Game on

This sexy story from The Playmaker by Cathryn Fox is published with permission.

Hot15 minsAdult MFContemporary
Game on

Instead of sitting, I stand at the big patio door and look out over the pool, lost in thoughts, until footsteps sound behind me. I turn, startled to see a figure in the archway.

Except my alarm turns to lust when Nina comes into the kitchen dressed in the big T-shirt I’d given her for bed. Jesus, talk about hot. Sexy as fuck.

An ache of need twists inside me as my gaze drops, takes in the length of her.

The light is dim, but I can still make out her barely there curves that drive me fucking wild, those sleek legs I’d give my nut sac to feel wrapped around me. Fuck, is she wearing any panties under that shirt? Is her sex brushing up against the fabric, no barriers? Is her scent weaving its way through the cotton? Damned if I don’t want to find out.

“Oh,” she says, startled. “I didn’t know you were up.”

Oh, yeah, I’m up, in so many fucking ways.

She stares at me though sleepy eyes, then points toward the sink, and it’s all I can do not to cross the room and kiss her again.

“I was thirsty. I was going to get a glass of water. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind. You’re welcome to anything, Nina. You don’t have to ask permission. While you’re staying here, what’s mine is yours.” Including my bed and body, but I think it’s best to leave that unsaid.

“Thanks.” She strolls to the cupboard, and I watch her hips sway beneath the too-long T-shirt. My cock stands at attention as she reaches into the cupboard for a glass, and I set my bowl of cereal on the counter, my hunger shifting.

“I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“No, I was just restless.” She shrugs. “Strange place, different bed, you know.”

No one has ever slept in the room I put her in—the one directly beside mine. It’s one of the smaller rooms, but I wanted to give her the best view of the pool and, well, maybe I wanted her close. Which is all kinds of fucked up.

I want her in my bed, yes—and that’s all kinds of fucked up, too—but I shouldn’t want her close.

Sex and intimacy are two very different things, and I don’t do the second.

“Too cramped? Bed uncomfortable?”

“The opposite, actually. The room is bigger than my condo, and it’s the most comfortable bed I’ve ever slept in.”

“My—”

She holds her hand up to stop me. “Let me guess, your decorator suggested you spare no expense and buy a top-quality mattress.” Her voice is full of teasing laughter as she smiles at me, and goddammit, her sweetness is like a sucker punch to the gut.

As air leave my lungs, I try to laugh with her and say, “Yeah.”

She leans against the counter and folds her arms across her chest. The innocent movement tugs the T-shirt higher on her legs. “Why did she insist on the best of everything?”

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I scrub my hand through my hair, messing it up. “Cause someday my wife would like that? She said something about quality things attracting a quality girl.” I laugh. “Stupid.”

Nina cocks her head, a challenge in her gaze. “If it was so stupid, why did you agree?”

Good question. “No clue. Maybe because I didn’t care one way or another.”

“Or maybe in the back of your mind, that’s what you want. To settle down with a nice girl.”

A half laugh, half snort rumbles in my throat, and Nina stands still and stares at me like I’m an escaped mental patient. Jesus, she couldn’t be more wrong. “I’m an expert asshole, Nina. Assholes don’t attract nice girls. Besides, I’m not marriage material.” I know nothing about being a good man or father, considering the role model I had. Not to mention I wasn’t even enough to keep my mother around. She didn’t care enough about me to stay. Yeah, I have the funds and means to search her down now, but why would I bother. Why would I ever go after a woman who didn’t want me in her life?

Nope, wasn’t going down that path. Don’t feel. Don’t get hurt. A motto to live by.

“Me neither,” she says matter-of-factly.

What the hell? Why would she think that?

Taken aback by her nonchalant statement, I’m about to ask when she redirects with, “Did you have a say in any of the rooms, add any of your own personal touches?”

Right now, there’s something I’d like to give my own personal touch.

“Things from your childhood?”

“I’m not much of a decorator, and I don’t have a lot of stuff from my childhood.”

She angles her head and her eyes narrow, like she’s remembering something from our youth. “Why not?”

“I just don’t,” I say, not wanting to tell her the real reason. My father was a bastard, and I wasn’t allowed personal things. I don’t want her pity. I don’t want anyone’s pity.

“So you—” she begins, but I cut her off.

“There was one room I made mine.”

She puts her hand on her hip, her look somewhat disgusted. “Let me guess, your boudoir, or rather, dude-oir. Turned it into something that resembles the Playboy Mansion.”

“Dude-oir?”

“You know, boudoir but man style.”

“Actually no,” I say, for reasons I don’t understand.

I want people to think I’m that guy, to see me as The Playmaker, but for some fucking reason I don’t want her to.

Shit man, she’s really getting under my skin, and nothing good can come from that.

“Really?”

“Yeah, really,” I say. I never take a woman in my bed. It’s either her place or an impersonal hotel. Completely detached, no insight into me. No girl has complained yet. Why would they? As long as they’re showered with nice gifts and bragging rights for nailing The Playmaker, they’re happy.

Surprise comes over her. “Oh, man cave then? Big-screen TV, big lounge chairs, fridge full of beer?”

“Something like that. I’ll show you tomorrow in the daylight. I don’t want to turn the lights on tonight. It can set off the headaches.”

She mellows, and gives a slow nod of understanding. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

My heart twists up at the sincerity in her voice, the genuine concern.

“No, I’m good.”

“It was the same for me. Loud sounds, too. That’s probably why you were dizzy in the car yesterday. You really should get that muffler fixed.” She turns on the tap and lets it run.

“I told you, that’s how it sounds, and in case you’re still wondering, no, I’m not overcompensating.”

As things shift between us, I put my hand over hers to turn the tap off and listen to her throat work as she swallows. With my bare chest pressed against her back, I keep my hand on hers for a moment, let it linger, revel in her softness, the scent of aloe vera and wintergreen in her hair. I put my mouth close to her ear and say, “I have cold water in the fridge.”

As tension fires between us, and my blood pumps fast, I reluctantly let her hand go, and pad barefoot across the room to pull the jug of cold water out of the fridge.

“I can get it,” she says, and hastily crosses the room and reaches for it.

Why does she hate anyone doing things for her? I know she’s always been independent, but come on.

She misjudges the distance in the dimly lit room, and her hand hits the jug. Water sloshes over the sides, landing on my bare chest and her nightshirt. She yelps and jumps back.

“Damn that’s cold!” she shrieks.

It might be cold, freezing even, but my skin is so fucking hot from pressing against her body, the water practically sizzles on my chest. But I can’t think about that. No, I can’t think about that at all, not when the prettiest girl I know is standing before me, looking like she’s about to take center stage at a wet T-shirt contest. Her breasts are small, like her, but so goddamn perfect, she’d win hands down.

“You, ah, you’re all…wet.”

Christ, way to state the obvious, but my brain isn’t quite up to speed right now. I gulp, swallow down the lust building inside me, but it refuses to be leashed in front of Nina. No, as the water spreads across the fabric, exposing her pert nipples, my lust expands, deepens, and demands attention.

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“I seem to be wet around you a lot.” As the words spill out, her eyes go wide and her sweet mouth forms an O, like what she said held all kinds of sexual connotations, too much, and she wants them back. She stays immobilized like that for a second—long enough for me to visualize my cock sliding between those lush lips—then she rushes on with, “I mean…first the rain, then the sink nozzle and the hot tub…now the water jug.” Jesus, she’s cute when she’s rambling. But I don’t want her flustered. Not around me. “I sort of have a wet theme going on around you. I mean…”

I set the jug down, and even though every instinct is warning me to back off, pack a fucking bag and leave the country, before I get myself into something that can only lead to trouble, I grip the hem of the shirt and pull the cold dampness away from her body.

“You should probably get out of this,” I say, and lift it slightly. I run my knuckles over her skin, creating warmth with friction.

She’s so fucking soft, my cock is clamoring for attention, tenting my boxers in ways that Nina can’t seem to ignore, judging by the way she keeps sneaking peeks downward.

Her breathing changes, becomes faster, erratic as I touch her. “It’s soaked,” she says. “I won’t be able to sleep in it now.”

“I have more.” I nod toward the archway. “You want to come to my room and I’ll get you one?” I say, but we both know what I’m really alluding to.  Her, in my bed. Me over her. Under her. Inside her.

“I…ah…”

Please say yes. Fuck man, fifty hand jobs aren’t going to cut it if she says no.

“I…” she says, and even though she’s hesitant, there’s no denying the want in her eyes, the need in her body.

But I have to hear her say it. I’m a motherfucking prick with a cocky reputation that I do my best to uphold—a detached guy who sleeps with nearly every woman who has ever thrown herself at me, and walks away come morning. But this is Nina, and it has to be her call, and I’m not so sure walking away is going to be that fucking easy.

“Remember our deal?” I ask.

“Deal?”

“You know, tit for tat.”

She takes in a quick breath, like she’s trying to suck all the air out of the room, then she nods quickly and says, “Yeah.”

Testing her, and not sure if what I’m about to do or say is going to get me a kick in the nuts, I slide my hands up her body, lightly brush my thumbs over her nipples.

Fuck, she feels good. When she doesn’t pull away, I apply more pressure to her lovely tits that my mouth is watering to taste.

“You said there would only be the tat part,” I remind her. “You were pretty adamant about that.”

“Yeah, I remember,” she whispers on a moan, and arches into me, her needy body betraying her completely, and I fucking love it. But I’m not about to take her until I’m one hundred percent certain it’s something she wants too.

I lightly cup her breasts, massage gently, and her moan of want seeps under my skin and strokes my thickening cock.

Her small hands go to my shoulders, her fingers burn my flesh as she explores my muscles.

She wets her lips, a familiar habit when she’s needy. “Cole,” she murmurs, her head falling back, her long hair splaying over her shoulders. Goddammit, lust looks so good on her, and my fucking cock is done for.

“Yeah?”

“I…I might want the other part, too.”

“Say it, Nina.” I reach up and give a slight tug on her hair, simply because I like the way it forces her mouth to open for me. “Tell me what you want.”

Her eyes meet mine, her pupils dilating.
“You know what I want. Don’t make me say it.”

I run my hands over her curves, pull her against me, let her feel my hard cock through my boxers. “If you can write dirty words in a book, why can’t you say them?”

“It’s…I can’t. Wait, how do you know what I write in my books?”

Ignoring her question, and wanting her to shed every and any insecurity with me, I say, “You can say whatever you want in front of me, Nina. We don’t even like each other, remember? No sense in worrying about getting embarrassed or offended. I’m a prick, you know that, and you know I’m only out for a good time, so it’s safe to say things to me that might not go over well with someone else.”

“I’m only out for a good time, too,” she says.

“You do this kind of thing all the time, then?”

“Yeah.”

Liar.

I slide my hand back up her body, coming perilously close to her nipples but never touching.

“Then tell me. Tell me what you want.”

She’s quiet for second, like she’s tossing something around in her mind, then a change comes over her. “You’re right. We don’t like each other much, and I guess if you want me to speak frankly, Jess put the idea in my head that we should hate fuck.”

Holy Fuck. Her bold words catch me by surprise. I know I’m not good enough for her, and I know she’s an innocent, but if she’s asking me for this, I have to give it to her. I’d give sweet Nina anything she ever wanted—other than my heart, that is. But it’s not my heart she wants, it’s my body, and I’m more than willing to give her that.

“Hate fuck, huh?” I wrap her hair around my hand three times, and rub my cock harder against her.

“When anger and desire mix.”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“And you think this is a good idea.”

“I think we’re past the point of good ideas, Cole” she says, and moves her body, grinds against my rock-hard cock, the sexy move prompting me into action.

Desperate to taste her again, I dip my head and capture her mouth with mine.

She goes up on her toes, and I let go of her hair, slide my hands around her body and lift her. I back her up, until she’s sitting on the kitchen island, and I widen her legs to position my body in between.

I put my hands on her legs and slowly slide them up. Her eyes are wide, filled with desire, and it rocks my fucking world.

“How much did you hate me growing up?”

“A lot,” she whispers. “You were always there, everywhere I turned. In my space, in my head, driving me crazy.”

“Did you want to hit me, throw things at me, scratch my eyes out?”

“All of the above,” she says, and wiggles restlessly beneath my invading fingers.

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I touch her lacy panties. “You always had such a smart mouth on you, Nina, and that fucking death glare.” I chuckle. “It made me want to hit something—or better yet, rip something.” I grip the thin lace on her panties and give them a good hard tug. The stitching tears, and she gasps.

“Yeah, like that.” I ease the material away and toss it aside, giving myself full access to her sweet sex.

She runs her nails over my back and scores my skin, deep enough to leave her mark on me, but that’s okay because I want it.

“That’s all you got? I thought you said you hated me,” I taunt.

“Still do,” she says, and drags more skin. I fucking love it.

“When you would shoot your mouth off to me, this is how I wanted to shut you up.” I press my lips to hers for a hard, punishing kiss. She kisses me back, and I thrust my tongue into her mouth, taste her deeply. Jesus, there is so much volatile heat between us, it’s sparking something inside me, igniting things I’d never felt before—shouldn’t be feeling now.

Shit. Why do I find it so hard to keep my shields up with her? If I knew what was good for me, I’d end this now. But when was the last time I did something that was good for me?

I pull her closer, kiss her harder, and when she gives a low, needy moan, I inch back, and we’re both breathless as we stare at each other.

I take in the anger mixed with desire dancing in her eyes, and I damn near shoot off in my shorts. I suck air, take deep, serrated breaths as I think about fucking her senseless, until I’m the only man she’s ever able to think about.

“When you called me names, I wanted to grab you by the balls, show you exactly who you were messing with.” She puts her hand on my stomach and slides it down until she’s cupping my sac through my shorts. I suck in a fast breath, prepared to be punished, but she explores me gently. Thank fuck.

“You know what else I wanted to do to shut you up when you shot your goddamn mouth off?” I say.

“No, what?” she asks, her eyes alive, full of excitement as she slides her hand inside my boxers and takes my cock into her palm.

Jesus, I love seeing her like this.

“I wanted to push you to your knees and put my cock in here.” I shove my thumb into her mouth and she sucks on it. Hard. I feel the pull all the way to my dick.

Motherfucker.

I pull my thumb out and she says, “When you used to walk around like the cock of the walk, like I was just a little girl you could so easily overlook, know what I wanted to do to you?”

“Throw something at me?” I gently bite her bottom lip, and she runs her hand over my cock, like she’s checking the length and girth, weighing it in her palm. Damn, I love the way she’s blatantly examining me, not bothering to hide her curiosity or excitement at what she’s discovering.

“Yeah. I wanted to throw something at you,” she agrees.

I push against her hand and groan. “Like what, one of those books you were always reading? Or maybe it was your fist. Did you want to throw your fist at me, Nina?” I take in the heat in her eyes, all her creamy skin and sexy curves, and that’s when it hits me. “Did you want to throw yourself at me, prove you weren’t a little girl to be overlooked?”

“Yeah, I did, Cole. You were a real bastard.”

“Still am,” I say, then brush my finger along her slit. A hard quiver moves through her and her eyes roll backward.

I groan at her responsiveness and her chest heaves.

She grips my hair and tugs. “I wanted to show you exactly what you were missing out on.”

I dip my finger inside her tight pussy, and she’s so wet and wanting, I nearly fucking sob with pleasure. “Do it, Nina. Make me pay for overlooking you. Show me what I was missing out on,” I say, even though I’d never in a million years discount someone like her. She was just off limits. Still is.

I can’t even count the amount of black eyes Cason handed out back in high school. If a guy so much as looked at his sister the wrong way, or the right way, he was done for. But she was so goddamn pretty, how could we not look? I guess I was just better at hiding it through the hateful teasing.

I couldn’t risk losing Cason. He was the best friend I ever had, still is, and the one thing he never knew was that by always keeping his door open for me, he saved me more times than imaginable.

Then why are you seducing his sister?

“You first,” she says, and when she wets her bottom lips, I lose track of my thoughts. Truthfully, my mind is so fucking blown at this wild, sexy side of her, it’s all I can do to keep my shit together. “Show me,” she says. “Push me to my knees and show me how you wanted to shut me up.”

My cock throbs, my whole body on fire, eager to do just that.

“I need this off you. Now,” I say and tug on her wet shirt.

She lifts her arms for me, and I peel the wet material over her head. My heart beats triple time when I glimpse her gorgeous body. I stand back for a second, and if she didn’t need me to do things to her, I’d spend the rest of the night just looking at her.

“Cole,” she pleads, and reaches for me. Her warm fingers touch my jaw, trail to my shoulders, to pull me to her.

I lift her from the counter, put my hands on her shoulders, and push until she’s on her knees before me. Jesus Christ, this is my every fantasy come true. My cock throbs against my boxers, and she runs her fingers over it.

“I heard a rumor,” she says, her voice hot and thick with lust, but also with a hint of teasing.

“What did you hear?”

“That you’re as fast as a cannon on the ice, but the real reason they call you Cannon is because you’re packing.”

 “Is that why you’ve been checking me out these last couple day?”

“Maybe.”

“They call me Cannon because it’s my last name, but if you think there’s another reason, feel free to find out for yourself and see firsthand what I’m working with.”

I grip the counter, and hold on as she fingers the elastic band on my boxers and slowly drags them down. Her breath catches on a gasp when my cock pops free and hits her mouth.

“So it’s true,” she says, those desirous blue eyes of hers meeting mine. She turns her attention back to my cock and stares at it, like it’s a toy she’s too afraid to play with.

My dick pulses under her examination, grows harder, and the room sways around me, but it has nothing to do with my concussion.

“Jesus fuck, Nina, please,” I moan. “Touch me. Take me into your mouth.”

*

Begging for more?

You can buy The Playmaker here.

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Cathryn Fox lives in beautiful Nova Scotia with her husband, who is convinced he can turn her into a mixed martial arts fan. When not writing, Cathryn can be found Skyping with her son living in Seattle, shopping with her daughter in the city, or watching a big action flick with her husband. You can also find her on Twitter, Instagram or Facebook, or give her five stars on Goodreads. If you’re interested in her other works, check out a review of Private Reserve by Cathryn Fox on AAR.

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